Three Hundred Seventy One Miles
by The Inkstained Hands
Summary: Alfred is missing, and Matthew and Arthur are panicking. Why did he leave? And are these mysterious notes actually leading Matthew and Arthur to him? UsUk. Slight PruCan.
1. Chapter 1

"Alfred! The door!" called Arthur. Arthur Kirkland stood in front of his apartment, hands full of groceries. His eye twitched. "Alfred?"  
He waited a few seconds before sighing, setting down his bags of groceries, and rummaging through his pocket for his key. He found it in his left pants pocket under a spare handkerchief. He unlocked the door. Alfred was probably playing video games or getting a little into a baseball or American football game.

On hearing the door click open, Arthur returned the key to his pocket and picked up his groceries with a huff. He kicked the door closed behind him before setting the bags on the kitchen table. "Alfred, I couldn't find the macaroni and cheese you usually like, so I just bought you this Draft brand kind . . ."

Alfred didn't respond. Not wanting to yell and make the neighbors hate them, Arthur chose to search for Alfred. Given that the apartment didn't really have many separate rooms, there wasn't anywhere he could really be hiding. Just the living room/kitchen, the bedroom and the bathroom.

Arthur walked into the bedroom and did several circles around it. It had a single window across from the door and a bedside lamp for lighting. The bed was unkempt; the blue sheet and red-and-white-striped duvet were twisted into a single worm and one pillow was thrown halfway across the room. Alfred had been just waking up when Arthur left that morning and hadn't bothered making it, as usual. The fluffy royal blue carpet had a smattering of t-shirts and jeans strewn across it. The rocking chair in the corner next to the window had a few ties hanging on the back, as well as a neatly folded dress shirt on the seat. The laundry basket next to it was overflowing.

However, in no corner did Arthur see his boyfriend. He turned to check the bathroom.

While the bathroom looked a little bit cleaner, there was no Alfred to be found in it.

Arthur shrugged and unpacked the groceries. It was mostly packaged meals, some beer, and lots of Cola for Alfred. Arthur picked up the last plastic bag to toss it in the rubbish bin, revealing a small blue sticky note that had been under the bag. Arthur held it up to read, setting down the bag. There was only a single word written, in all caps: "PITTSBURGH."

His eyebrows knitted together. Pittsburgh: a city in Pennsylvania known for steel. Arthur and Alfred had talked about nice US cities before, but Pittsburgh hadn't come up, at least not memorably. Had they even said the word "Pittsburgh" to each other before? Was this even Alfred's handwriting? The all caps made it harder to tell.

Planning on demanding an explanation, Arthur picked up his mobile phone and called Alfred. It went immediately to voicemail.

"Wanker," muttered Arthur, hanging up.

He attempted a call once more, but gave up and began attending to the overflowing laundry basket.

**xox**

The laundry was clean and dry, but Alfred still wasn't home. Arthur called again. His attempt was fruitless, as Alfred's phone seemed to be turned off, still. It was not rare that someone's mobile phone died while they were out, but given the creepy note and the fact the prior to today, Alfred simply didn't leave the house before ten ( his internship in physical therapy in a close hospital allowed him to do so); Arthur paced around the apartment with anxiety.

He made the bed.

He attempted to figure out which t-shirts and jeans on the floor were clean by sniffing, but gave up and put everything in the laundry basket.

He did more laundry.

He vacuumed every inch of carpeting in the apartment.

And then, having done everything else to rid himself of anxiety, he baked some scones.

Arthur, being a freelance writer, felt inspired by the sweet smell filling the apartment. He started writing a personal story about how he used to eat scones every morning on the train, until he moved to America, At the end, he wrote his favorite scone recipe. People loved Do-It-Yourself things today. This story might sell!

Finished with the first draft, he checked the clock. It was well past lunchtime, going on 2 o'clock. He realized he was starving, but his stomach twisted into knots when he thought about actually eating.

Instead, he made himself a cup of Earl Grey and read an old copy of the _New Yorker. _He lay on the sofa, his feet propped on one armrest and his head propped on the other. The stories started to wind themselves around him, lulling him out of reality, until his phone buzzed in his pocket.

It was a text message, but it wasn't from Alfred. It was from his little brother, Peter, reading: "GUESS WHAT I'M IN AMERICA!"  
Arthur ran a hand through his hair and groaned before replying. "I'm sorry I don't have room to accommodate you during your stay." He dropped his phone on the floor afterwards, planning on ignoring whatever came next, but then a horrendous, quick knocking could be heard from the door. It turned into a desperate banging.

He carefully placed his magazine on the coffee table so it was open to his last page before he opened the door.

"'Ello, Arthur! Will you take me to see the Statue of Liberty?"

"Peter, are you traveling alone? How can you afford this anyway?" Arthur's voice filled with genuine concern.  
Peter ignored him. "Statue of Liberty? Please?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "No. I'm busy."

"Busy with what?"

"Just bugger off."

"What are you busy with, Art?"

"It doesn't make a bloody difference to you."

Peter looked offended.

Arthur attempted to close the door, only for Peter to stick his foot in the doorway.

"Just tell me!"

"Fine. I'm part of a secret operation for the US government. Now get the bloody hell out of the doorway and go see that piece of French trash on your own because you don't have anyone else to go with."

Peter's hands curled into fists. "That's just insulting!"

"Yes. it is quite, isn't it?"

"Will you at least go to MoMA with me tomorrow?" he cried.

Arthur sighed. "Maybe. Now if you please . . ." He pulled the door back and slammed it into Peter's foot.

Peter shrieked withdrew himself from the doorway and Arthur locked the door shut.

He returned to the couch and checked his phone. No new messages. No Alfred.

**xox**

It was seven in the evening and still nothing from Alfred. Arthur turned on the oven to heat up a frozen pizza and wondered if he would even eat it. The television was turned on the news, as Arthur had little better to do than watch it.

His phone rang. It was Matthew, Alfred's little brother.

"Cheerio!" said Arthur, hopeful.

"Is Alfred with you?" asked Matthew.

"Oh, er . . .I'm afraid not."

"He's not answering his phone and-"  
"I don't know where he is," Arthur interjected.

"Oh. Sorry."

Arthur didn't hang up and waited to see if Matthew would say anything else.

"Do you have any idea? At all?" Matthew said finally.

"Well-" Arthur started. The note reading "PITTSBURGH" sat in front of him. "Yes. I got home from the grocery store and Alfred wasn't here, but there was a note. It said only 'Pittsburgh'. Now, I'm not sure that he has any real motivation to leave New York, but perhaps something came up."

"That's a start," Matthew acknowledged. "But Pittsburgh is pretty large-"  
"I know that! Do you think I'm a bloody idiot?"

"Sorry."

"You're pretty close to New York City now, right, Matt?"

"Well, yes-"  
"Good. We're leaving tomorrow morning."

"It's four hundred miles away, almost! And you don't even have a car!"

"You still have that truck, right?"

"Okay, fine."

**xox**

Arthur and Matthew first met at a Fourth of July party at the Jones household. It was also Alfred's birthday celebration, as they happened on the same day. Arthur and Mathew acknowledged each other's existence before then, in the way that you have to when someone is dating your brother, but they didn't really talk.

Alfred was lighting the fireworks with Mr. Jones, so Arthur stood next to the snack table alone. He ate a few crisps (which Alfred insisted on calling chips), but mostly he moped. Why did everyone call it the Fourth of July when it was, more importantly, Independence Day? And really, how did they make such delicious delicious barbecue? Every time he tried making it, it burned a carbon crisp.

Matthew walked up to him, hockey stick slung over his shoulder. "You wouldn't happen to know how to play field hockey, would you?"

"Not really, no."

"No one else knows how either," he sighed.

"I'm sorry." Arthur's tone was positively wooden. "If you have some sizable sticks, I do know how to fence quite well."

"Really?"

"I liked swords a lot as a kid, so I took fencing lessons. It didn't amount to much. My high school theatre group wasn't interested in plays with a lot of swordplay." Arthur shrugged.

"Cool."  
And so then the two men picked up long sticks and did a mock sword fight, as red, white, and blue fireworks filled the night sky.

**xox**

In the morning, Arthur filled a paper bag with the scones. They were perfect, in his opinion. He stuffed a bag with clothes for the next few days, and drank some tea, waiting for Matthew.

His phone buzzed.

It was a text from Matt: "I'm waiting outside your building, but I can't find any parking."

Thank god Matthew had chosen to live in the middle-of-nowhere Ontario rather than the city. A car was absolutely necessary for this trip. Although there was public transportation to Pittsburgh from New York, it took far too long, and was filled with suspicious people.

He picked up his things and locked the door behind him.

Matthew's car wasn't what Arthur was used to seeing in New York. it was a blue pickup truck that looked like it had survived many a winter in the Canadian wilderness. Upon entering the truck, he offered Matthew a scone.

"I already ate, thanks."

Arthur shrugged. The car was silent for a few minutes before he asked, "Do you have family in Pittsburgh?"

"Not that I know-oh my, _oh my gosh!_" Matthew slammed on the breaks.

"No one? Anyone in Pennsylvania?"

"No," Matthew squeaked. His mouth tightened in concentration.

"In the general area? Ohio?"

"Can you stop talking to me until I get out of the city traffic?"

Arthur scowled, but Matthew's face was an impressive shade of pale blue-green, so he chose not to say any more.

Arthur hadn't learned to drive until sometime in university. He grew up in London, with little need to drive places. When he did learn, he learned on city roads. He was used to the silly decisions people made. It was very possible he would fall asleep of boredom on a country road.

"Okay, so what did you have to say?" Matthew said finally, his voice now more relaxed.

"Is there anyone you know with whom Alfred would stay in Pittsburgh?"

"Not really. We grew up in the suburbs of New York. Not too many people left the state." Matthew paused before adding, "At least not that I remember."

"You're not certain?"

"No. Hey, I have a question for you! Do you know why he might leave?"

Arthur thought for a moment. "It's not football season, so that can't be why." After a second of thought, he said, "He was probably kidnapped. I don't think he left that note."

Matthew's eyes opened wider. "Probably kidnapped? So he just . . . disappeared?"

"I suppose you could say that."  
"You know, it'd be nice if he actually cared to talk to me more." Matthew leaned forward.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "What the devil do you mean?"

"Then I might know why he left. He only calls me to ask if I'm going to football games with him. Because you won't!" He flushed after saying the last sentence.

"Oh my."

"Sorry."

"S'alright." Arthur breathed deeply before asking, "What are we even going to do once we get to Pittsburgh?"

"I don't know."

"I suppose it'll be about time for lunch. Do you happen to know your way around Pittsburgh? To any restaurants?"

Matthew shrugged. "I've never really been."

"Well, I'm sure they'll have something."

Matthew's expression tightened. "How about we talk about these things once we get to Pittsburgh?"

Arthur nodded and took a novel out of his bag.

A few hours away from Matthew and Arthur, Alfred was sitting on a train, trying very hard not to look at someone who was making a scene. He asked the person next to him if he could charge his phone at their destination. The person gave a gruff "Yes."

* * *

**Author's note: So they're going to Pittsburgh! Exciting, yeah? I hate to spoil it for you, but they won't find Alfred there. In fact, they will go to a number of different US towns and cities before the completion of this story. If you've ever visited/lived in a really quirky small town in the American Midwest, and you're willing to tell me about its urban legends or whatever, that'd be much appreciated! I need more destinations on this trip, as I only have a basic path drawn out for our heros. **


	2. Chapter 2

Pittsburgh, it turns out, is hardly a cultural epicenter. One time, Arthur was talking to a woman who had lived in Pittsburgh as a child. She said that if you walked too close to the buildings on the way home from school, you risked getting a grey, sooty, dusty substance on your clothing. That wasn't entirely true. Many of the buildings in the downtown district were very clean, but then Arthur was coming from New York, which wasn't known for its cleanliness.

"Oh, there's a restaurant called Olive Or Twist. That's adorable!" said Arthur.

"It looks a bit out of our price range," said Matthew.

They ended up choosing an Italian place called Cafe Milano.

The waitress did a double take when she saw Matthew. "Weren't you here just yesterday? With a different guy?"

Matthew looked at her blankly.

The waitress tilted her head. "I think he was an Asian guy?"

Matthew shook his head. "I hadn't been to Pittsburgh until today. But that might be my brother you're talking about."

"Oh, really?"

Arthur smiled a little bit. This whole finding Alfred thing could be over a little quicker than expected. "Do you happen to know where he went after that?"

The waitress turned to look at the kitchen for a second, which was hardly busy. "Well, I think I heard them talking about the DoubleTree hotel. Other than that, I don't know. Now, what did you want to drink?"  
Both asked for a water.

The waitress walked away.

"I suppose we'll have to stay at the DoubleTree tonight, won't we?" suggested Arthur.

"I guess," grumbled Matthew.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Arthur asked.

"It's just I'm mistaken for my brother a lot."  
"You do look practically identical!"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Teachers used to get us confused a lot. And I was a year behind Al. We never took the same classes, even."

"So?"

"A girl thought I was Al and asked me out. And then she looked down and saw I was wearing a hockey shirt and she ran away."

Arthur laughed. "Really?"

"It's not funny!" insisted Matthew.

"Of course, Alfred wouldn't have dated her anyway," said Arthur, smirking.

"No. He might have. She was pretty."

"Yeah, but . . . She was a girl."

The waitress arrived with the waters then. Arthur smiled and Matthew muttered thanks. Arthur took a sip of his.

"Alfred dated girls in high school, you know."

Arthur choked on the water. "Bloody hell!"  
Matthew shrugged. "I don't think he actually liked any of them, if that's any consolation."

"It's really, truly not."

The waitress walked up the two, put on a broad smile, and asked if they were ready to order.

Arthur ordered a pizza for the two of them.

Matthew hunched forward after she left. "You know she's listening to our every word, right?"

Arthur scoffed. "I also don't care."

"I guess you're right."

Neither of them knew what to say, so they sat in silence until the pizza came.

The pizza smelled heavenly, they way any old pizza will, but especially so because both men were very bored and very hungry. Arthur took a bite immediately and then winced in pain, having burned his tongue. Oh well, it was worth it,

"My brother was traveling with another man."

Arthur looked up from his pizza. "Hmmm?"  
Matthew met his gaze, only to look down a second later and take several large bites of pizza.

"Are you trying to suggest that Alfred is cheating on me?"

Matthew didn't reply, and kept wolfing down the pizza. "This is delicious!"

Arthur threw a napkin at him.

Matthew put his pizza down and wiped the excessive tomato sauce off his face. "We know my brother wasn't alone. So that could help us figure out why he left. Maybe?"

Arthur pursed his lips. "I'm certain he'll tell us why he left once we find him."

Matthew had nothing to say to that, and luckily Arthur's phone began to ring loudly. Arthur answered it.

"Hey! Why aren't you answering your door?" Peter's voice whined.  
"I'm not home."  
"Can you come home soon? We should go to see _Phantom of the Opera _or _Kinky Boots _together. If you hurry we can make it to the matinee!"

"It's a Monday, there is no matinee."

"We could still see them together. Please?"  
"I'm not even in New York right now, Peter. Didn't you bring, uh, what are their names? Berwald! Berwald or Raivis with you?"

"They couldn't come." Peter inhaled to say something more, but Arthur hung up.

"Who was that?" Matthew asked timidly.

"My little brother."

"Oh."

Arthur took a long drink of water before eating some more pizza.

Matthew copied him.

"So how do you like your meal?" asked the waitress, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.  
"It's very good, thank you," replied Arthur.

"Yes, thanks," added Matthew.

"I'm glad," she said. She truly did look glad. As she walked away, her gaze lingered on Matthew.

Matthew shivered, his face turning the same color it did that morning as he navigated New York traffic.

"About a fortnight ago" said Arthur, "I went to an NPR radio station to talk about a story concept with this awful, perverted radio host."

"Yeah?" asked Matthew, wondering where this was going.

"Some bloke had liked a column I wrote and thought I could contribute to a story about immigration."

Matthew motioned for him to continue.

"They had some other bloke there, who was a German. Well, he said he was a Prussian, but really . . . Anyway. Do you know a Gilbert Beilschmidt? He was talking about how he made the final decision to move because of someone he met who lived in Canada and drove a run-down blue truck."

Matthew blushed. "Yes. Yes, I know Gilbert Beilschmidt. I met him while I was working at Tim Horton's. I think he was backpacking with his brother."

"How well do you know him?"

Matthew's face became just a shade away from the color of the tomato sauce.

Arthur turned his head to see their waitress, who now looked as if she just had her phone taken away. He liked to do good deeds, occasionally. "You're welcome," he whispered.

**xox**

After lunch, they checked in at the DoubleTree. The room they got had a desk, where Arthur set up his laptop and began typing away at a fantasy novel he had tried to write a long time ago that never quite worked.

Matthew checked the fitness center and swimming pool areas. Alfred was not there. He then went to the lobby, where he collected every brochure he could find, the idea being that he would eventually find a place of interest for his brother. He sat in the lobby to look through them. If Alfred were to walk through the door just then, Matthew would be ready to talk to him.

Alfred wasn't there by the time he had finished every brochure, but he did have one possible place of interest.

**xox**

"It's a museum?" asked Arthur.

"The Andy Warhol Museum," answered Matthew.

"Andy Warhol is his favorite artist, I suppose," said Arthur.

Matthew nodded. "I think we should go. In case he's there."

Arthur agreed, and they went to the museum together.

**xox**  
Alfred shivered. "Dude this is totally scary!"

"We aren't even in the building."

"Oh my gawd, do you think the houses next to it are also haunted?"

"You know we don't have to do this."

"No." Alfred puffed out his chest. "I am going in there."

The small building had the title of an opera house, but looked like it would burst open if half the cast and crew of a Broadway show walked in. It was square and blue, with no windows.

Upon entering a short woman approached them. "Are you planning an event here?"

"My friend and I are thinking about having a wedding here," said Alfred's companion. "Could you please show us around?"

The woman smiled. "Oh, yes! Now, do either of you happen to have the last name Kline or Small?"

Alfred flinched. "No!"

The woman continued. "Well, there's this legend . . ."

xox

"I didn't know Andy Warhol owned someone else's human foot," said Matthew, exiting the museum.

"I didn't know he was a Catholic," said Arthur. "Nor did I know you could buy mummy foots at flea markets."

Matthew shuddered. "Yeah."

"I imagine it's time to go back to the hotel now."

"Yeah."

They headed to the Hotel in quiet contemplation of everything they'd seen at the museum, as well as keeping alert in case they saw Alfred on the sidewalk. While looking at some of Warhol's portraits of men, one teenaged girl shook her head and said something to her mother about him being "hella gay." A few pictures over, Arthur began chortling almost uncontrollably. Matthew sighed and continued silently taking in the prints.

In the museum gift shop, Arthur noticed a hamburger wallet and asked the cashier if they'd seen anyone actually purchase it. The cashier simply shrugged and mumbled something about not caring what anyone bought in the shop as long as it was legal.

Before arriving at the hotel, Arthur checked his mobile phone. He had a text from a number he didn't recognize, reading simply "Cortland, OH."

"That's odd," he remarked.

"Huh?"

"Cortland, _Ohhhh," _he read aloud to Matthew. "What the devil is that supposed to mean?"

Matthew parked his truck. "It's Cortland, comma, O-H? Right?"

"That's correct."

"It's another location. Some town in Ohio."

"Oh!" Arthur flushed, angry that Matthew was probably right, and had solved the mystery before him. "Well, I'm going to research it as soon as we get to our room."

It was only about three in the afternoon, so Arthur figured that depending on how far away it was, they could leave that night (Ohio was only one state over, after all).

"Right-o," he began pitching the idea to Matthew. "Would you be willing to go to Cortland tonight, after I figure out where it is?"  
"You know, I'm tired. And I already paid for a night at this hotel." Matthew rubbed his eyes.

Arthur twitched. "You're brother is lost and he's probably quite easy to spot in this country town and you want to wait until tomorrow?!"

"He might not even be there."

They walked through the door of the hotel, so Arthur waited until they entered the elevator to continue.

"He could be there! And I miss him. Very much."

Matthew opened his mouth to as if to reply, but said nothing.

**xox**

Francis Bonnefoy was in hot water.

"Look, here at NPR we strive to include a diverse array of programming, and your show just doesn't bring much extra to the table," explained TIno. "Please don't yell at me."

Francis curled his hand into a fist. "I am the most flamboyant and unique person here, how can you say that?"  
Tino shook his head. "Well, it's the same basic idea as Storycorps and This American Life . . . I mean, it's not me, it's the producers. Look, you still have two weeks of air time. You can try to prove then that you're interesting."  
Francis left Tino's office muttering about that Edelstein man's show that consisted of him playing sleepy classical pieces and complaining about other musicians. He stopped at the doorway and told Tino he'd be taking a coffee break.

"Can you please get me a coffee? With two sugars?" asked Tino, his voice quavering.

"Oui, of course."

At the coffee shop, he ordered a cafe au lait and a black coffee before returning to the studio, taking great care not to spill his cup. He handed the black coffee to Tino.

"There. See, no bitter feelings."

"Thank you, Francis!"

Francis took out his phone to call his only intelligent friend, and strode to his office. He sat on the desk and looked at his plans for the program this week. The theme was metamorphosis, something an intern had come up with. He looked at the footage someone-was it the Spaniard?-had picked out for the show. It was all too pitiful.

He dialed the appropriate phone number and waited.

"Hello?"

"Oui, Arthur, I need your help," he sighed.

"What the bloody hell do you want, frog?"

"NPR wants to cancel my show. They said it was too much like other shows!"

"I dunno what to tell you."

"But I've worked so hard to get my own radio show only to be thrown away like an old pair of shoes!"

There was a long bout of silence.

"Arthur, mon ami, help me. S'il vous plait?"

"Look, I'm a little concerned with other things at the moment-"

"I could," Francis's voice, most embarrassingly, cracked. "I could lose my job!"

"Great. I don't have an actual job."

"What if I gave you a job in the show? If you just tell me what to do now, I-"

"Do you honestly think I want to work for you, you arrogant ass?"

Francis groaned. "Based on the last time I saw you in a suit, you could use a steady salary, no matter where it comes from."

"Are you trying to call my suits _shabby_?"

"Only because they are!"

"I don't think you need assistance from a peasant like me, then."

"So you certainly don't want all the money a new job would give you? Or the experience? Or the publicity?"

Francis very much would have liked to see Arthur's face in that moment.

"Right-o, you just need to figure out something the other shows don't have."

Francis waited, his hands tightly gripping his desk, to the point where his fingertips were white.

"I don't listen to NPR. Do they have any advice shows? Like, personal advice?"

"Oui, of course! People could write in their romantic troubles and I could solve all their problems! Merci! Merci beaucoup!"

"That's not what I said but, sure. If your listeners want to get a restraining order."

Francis made kissy noises into the phone before hanging up.

**xox**

"Younger brother?" asked Matthew.

"Sort of. Not exactly," said Arthur.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks for the follows and favorites! You guys are so sweet. Also, fun fact: I came up for the idea for this fic while listening to a song. Guess what song it is and . . . Idk, maybe I'll write you into the story? Hint: the song is relatively old.**


	3. Chapter 3

The entire hour and a half it took to get to Cortland, the truck was silent. That morning, they had eaten breakfast at the hotel, and Arthur refused to drink hotel tea, making him very grumpy. Matthew was upset they didn't have good maple syrup, and that the previous night Arthur had chuckled at his stuffed polar bear. In Matthew's opinion, it was entirely normal and manly and in the spirit of the maple leaf to have a stuffed animal if it were something like a polar bear.

In truth, the pair were beginning to realize that this trip was going to be longer than initially planned, and they didn't like each other that much. Arthur, in his anxiety, said nothing and continued to annotate his copy of _The Hobbit _ Matthew, in contrast, gritted his teeth and gripped the steering wheel so tightly it left an imprint on his hand.

"I guess we're in Cortland," said Matthew.

Looking around Cortland, the town did not appear to really _be _a town. On any given block, there were under five businesses. There was no downtown area full of boutiques and diners, as every business seemed to have a house across the street from it. On the brighter side, Matthew's pickup truck would fit in a little better.

"Why the hell would anyone come _here?" _asked Arthur.

Matthew only shook his head.

"Is there even a hotel here?"

Matthew yawned. "You could check a map on your phone."

Arthur opened his phone only to see that he didn't have service for internet searches. "That's unfortunate. No 3G."

Matthew sighed deeply. "We could, umm . . . Talk to the locals?"

Arthur's eyes opened wide. He wasn't bad at talking to people, but he didn't like it.

**xox**

Alfred had always been a deep sleeper, and had always slept late, much to his companion's dismay. Most annoyingly, though, he _giggled _in his sleep. He had fallen asleep watching online videos, so perhaps that was a contributing factor. His companion noted this so as to prevent it in the future.

All the same, the man couldn't bring himself to wake Alfred, who slept relatively peacefully. The man took out a tablet. He looked at a map and studied the outline of locations on it.

**xox**

The only place with anyone in it, as far as Matthew could see, was a restaurant called the Four Star Diner. Why you would call yourself four stars when you could be five stars was a mystery.

"We both ate breakfast just two hours ago," said Arthur.

"I just thought we should eat here, because, well, waitresses and waiters usually give directions well."

"Fine."

The pair walked into the diner.

"I reckon the whole town could fit in this diner," said Arthur.  
Matthew turned to give him a placating look. The restaurant was large (the sign did call it a "banquet room"), and looked like it used to be a bar. There was a lot of wood paneling and leather-y booths.

A short, dimpled waitress approached them. "Hey, boys. How many am I seating today?"

"Just two," answered Arthur.

"Come right this way, boys."  
They followed her to a table by the window.

"Can I getcha something to drink?" she asked.

"Black coffee, please," said Matthew.

"Earl Grey tea," Arthur said.

The waitress leaned forward. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, where are you from?" She looked at Arthur.  
"London."

She nodded, then stood up straight and headed to place their orders for them. "Wow," they heard her mumble.  
Matthew opened the menu that had been stacked against the window.

"Are you really going to eat a second breakfast?"

Matthew shrugged. "It's kind of rude to only order coffee and leave, don't you think?"

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "If you insist." He opened a menu and browsed the selection.

The waitress returned with their two drinks. "Are ya ready to order?"

"I'll have the buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup, please" requested Matthew.

"Eggs benedict," said Arthur.

"Of course," the waitress turned to go away.

"Excuse me," said Arthur.

The waitress pivoted back to facing them. "Oh, yeah?"

"Do you know if there are any hotels in the area?"

"Well," the waitress tilted her head. "I don't think there are any hotels here in Cortland, but, there are a few a little outside the town."

"Where?" asked Arthur incredulously.

"Well, I can get you guys a map. We have one on hand, actually! Here, I'll show you." The waitress went to the front of the diner and took a brochure out of the podium at the front. She returned shortly and laid the map on the table.  
"Okay, we are here." She drew an x with her pen. "The best hotel you can get is here." She starred a point that looked a bajillion kilometers out of town. "It's about a hundred dollars a night, with a golf course and everything. It's called, um, the Grand something . . ."

"Sounds lovely," said Arthur.  
"Thanks," added Matthew.

"Oh, no problem." She smiled. "You keep this," she said, tapping the map. She walked back to the kitchen.

"Okay," said Matthew. "Now we need to find Alfred."

"Right-o."  
Matthew took a sip of coffee and winced.

"Too hot?" asked Arthur.  
"No. just . . ." Matthew didn't finish his sentence and coughed.

"What?"

Matthew lowered his voice. "This tastes like sludge."

"Isn't that what all coffee tastes like?"

Matthew shook his head. "Not Tim Horton's, anyway."

Arthur shrugged and took a sip of the tea. It didn't taste like Earl Grey. A good cup of Earl Grey should taste like how a rose smells, but this tasted like dishwater. He tried not to wince, and perhaps it worked because Matthew didn't comment.

Arthur studied the map of Cortland and beyond. Cortland didn't have many tourist spots, you'll be unsurprised to learn. Its best feature was perhaps the golf course, but that wouldn't pique Alfred's interest.

Maybe he wasn't here of his own accord.

Or maybe he wasn't even here. Maybe it was something else entirely giving him directions.

Matthew asked if he could look at the map. Arthur handed it over reluctantly. He had hoped to be the one to point on the map and say for sure where Alfred was.

**xox**

Alfred picked unplugged his phone. "I should probably call my boyfriend."

"Probably." His companion was occupied with putting on socks and shoes.

He clicked Arthur's contact to call him and held his cell phone to his ear. After forever, he heard on the other end: "Alfred?"  
"Arthur!"

He heard static, and then his phone beeped. He lowered it from his ear. A message flashed on the screen. "Call dropped."

He tried again, but the call went to voicemail. "Hi, Arthur." He paused. "I'm totally gonna see you soon! I'm working on a magical plan to fly. That's right, _fly, _like a freaking eagle back to New York."

After he hung up, his companion sighed. "You do realize we have a long way to go, right?"

"Yeah, like ten places!"

"That's ten more days. Plus your flight."

**xox**

The waitress returned to the table, her arms laden with the plates of pancakes and eggs benedict.

"Thank you," said Matthew. Though he meant to simply be polite he sounded apprehensive.

"I don't mean to bother you again," began Arthur. "But do you know any places of interest here? Such as tourism spots?"

The waitress giggled. "I think you've seen by now, this really is a very small town. There aren't a ton of places for tourists to go. Although I think," she paused for a moment. "There is a woman who gives city tours and talks about town history and urban legends, and that sort of thing. Though I don't know if it will be going on this weekend. Her family was involved in a fire that happened just yesterday."

"I'm terribly sorry," said Arthur.

Matthew choked down his mouthful of barely-chewed pancake to say, "I hope she's okay."

The waitress nodded solemnly before saying something about other guests being there.

"Maybe my brother is finally growing up to be the hero he always wanted to be. Maybe he's helping that family."  
Arthur snorted. "If your little brother wanted to help a lot of people he'd stay in New York and work with hospitals in underprivileged areas. Which he's working on a degree to allow him to do."

Matthew smiled. "He's working on a degree to go into physical therapy."

"He says physical therapy is very important in underprivileged areas. Those schools get injured athletes, too!"

Matthew took a bite of pancake. It wasn't perfectly fluffy or anything, but it was no where near the monstrosity of his coffee. He was hungry, as he hadn't eaten much at the hotel.

"Stupid git," said Arthur. "Running off like this, or getting kidnapped."

"Didn't he have anything to say when he called?"

"Most likely. The call dropped too early for me to know for certain." Arthur took a tentative bite of eggs benedict. It was all right. About as good as it would be if he'd made it.

Matthew was on his phone, having stopped eating his pancakes.

"You know that's terribly rude."  
"Sorry. I was just looking at information on the fire. I think we should talk to them, in case that's what Alfred is doing."

Arthur took a sip of the dishwater tea.

"It says here they lived on Winter Lane. And three went to the hospital. I don't know how to find the six healthy ones, but-"  
"You got 3G here?"

"Yes?"  
Arthur pulled out his phone, disregarding how rude it was. "The nearest hospital is the Trumbull Mahoning Medical Group. We can probably convince them we need to talk to the family. They've only been exposed to smoke inhalation. I suppose they're fine by now."

"Smoke inhalation is usually what kills in fires," said Matthew.

Arthur shrugged. "They're probably good, though."

Matthew clenched his jaw.

When the waitress came around again, Arthur asked for the check. He turned back to Matthew. "I do see one problem with your plan to go to the Trumbull Mahoning place.

"Yeah?"

"They don't have the resources to deal with fire victims, or any overnight patients. The people we want are at St Joseph's Health Center."

"Okay."  
Arthur paid the bill, left a decent tip, and practically sprinted to the truck.

"Whoa there, don't get too excited. We're going to see people who may have nearly died in a fire."

"No," said Arthur. "We're distant relatives from out of town-well, you're a distant relative of theirs anyway. I just came here for support. We're just happy to see our family alive."

Matthew sighed and started the truck. "Okay."

Arthur looked up directions to the hospital, and they set on their way.

The side of the road was filled with alternating woodland and cornfields through the whole trip, though mostly woodland. Though Arthur had been hiking in upstate New York with Alfred, he hadn't seen so many trees in a while. They were very green (greener than he'd remembered), and somehow both dulled your brain and were interesting.

"What am I supposed to say when I walk into the hospital?"

"Well," said Arthur, "I don't suppose it'll be that hard. You just walk up to the receptionist and say something like 'please, can you take me to my family? I got this call a while ago about a fire and I just hope they're okay.'"  
Matthew realized that Arthur was a writer for a reason. He liked coming up with lies. "Um, all right then."

"You have to act very panicked. Like, practically unreasonable."

Matthew bit his lip.

"I doubt there are enough people in this area for there to be another family in there that was just in a fire, so I think you're okay in that respect."

Matthew bit down harder and wondered when he would draw blood.

"You'll be fine. The nurses will pity you and think you're so cute and I'll look really concerned about you."

Matthew's jaw tightened.

"You look quite anxious now as it is, so you'll be great!"

"You're sure this will work?"

"No, I'm not sure at all! But if it doesn't, we'll be fine."

"Uh, can you turn on the radio or something?"

Arthur obeyed, tuning the radio until he stumbled onto the local NPR station. Fresh Air was playing. They were interviewing someone Arthur had met at a writing convention. This person had seemed really out of touch, but now here she was. Famous enough to interest Terry Gross, and she had applied herself into writing a short novel. And Arthur had trouble getting short articles submitted, not to mention accepted.

It stung a little bit, to know someone he hadn't liked had already achieved moderate success. When he had been really proud about writing about scones, she had apparently been writing about lovers living countries apart: one in Japan and one in Spain. She had been studying abroad in Japan and learning a new language and he still only knew about five words in French.

Matthew parked the truck, his hand shaking.

"Ready, Matt?" asked Arthur, his own voice quavering a bit.

"I guess."

* * *

**Author's note: Again, thanks for the follows and favorites, you guys! Reviews would also be helpful in getting this story written. My offer to write about a town or city you've visited still stands, if you want it. I actually haven't been to Pittsburgh or Cortland, but I have access to Google Maps! I have no idea if the Four Star Diner would actually sell eggs benedict (although they probably have pancakes) because they don't have a website. Or a Yelp page. Really, it's shady as hell. **


	4. Chapter 4

Before walking into the hospital, Matthew took a few deep breaths. Behind him, Arthur followed, molding his face into a look of concern. Matthew dashed up to the receptionist. "Please! My family in in here, somewhere. They nearly died in a fire? Are they all right?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Can I see them? Please?"

The receptionist gave him a look of intense pity. "Of course. Your family would be named . . . ?"

Matthew opened his mouth to answer, but remembered that none of the reports had given a name.

"Oh of course!" continued the receptionist. He picked up a paper. "The Karps. Mary Karp should be . . . here," he jotted down a room number, along with notes on the ward. "The rest of them are in the adjacent rooms."

Matthew nodded. "Thank you so much, sir!"

"Oh, and, by the way," the receptionist cut in before they could leave. "Neither of you would happen to have been sick in the past twenty-four hours with vomiting, a fever, or similar?"

Both men shook their heads.

"Good to go, then."

They walked to the hospital room. Matthew played with his key ring.

"I've never had to lie like that before."  
"I'm shocked that Gilbert hadn't gotten you into trouble like that!" said Arthur.

"Gilbert and I-" Matthew started. "Gilbert and I liked each other. And he may have gotten me into some, well, compromising positions, but-"

"He never made you do the lying," Arthur finished.

Matthew didn't respond and double-checked the room number on the sticky note.

"Don't you think it's a little strange they didn't have a nurse or anyone take us there?" Arthur wondered aloud.

Matthew shrugged.

Arthur then proceeded to make a tasteless joke about paying for health care personally versus through taxes. It wasn't funny and only made the search for the fire victims more awkward.

"Here she is," said Matthew, gesturing to a door to their left. He opened the door for Arthur and then walked in. It was as bland as any other hospital room. The walls were a grey-white, the lights a head-splitting fluorescent light. A woman sat in a hospital bed, leafing through a magazine. She had burn marks on her arm. Roses sat on the window sill, evidence of a lover of some kind.

"Who are you?" asked the woman, presumably Mary Karp.

"I'm Arthur, and then is my acquaintance, Matthew." Arthur poked Matthew in the arm. "We have a few questions for you."

"I don't want to talk to the press," she said. "It was a fire, I don't know what started it."

"We're not involved in the press," said Arthur quickly. "Well, at least, not at the moment. We're trying to . . . solve a mystery."

"Really?" Mary leaned forward. "Tell me about it and maybe you're worth my answers." She rested her head in her hand, and her long, dull brown hair gathered at her neck.

Arthur told her about not finding Alfred in his apartment, about not finding him anywhere, but getting notes about cities. He talked about Alfred's little brother, Matthew, calling wondering where in the world his brother could be. He left out the part about dating Alfred, not sure if being gay was all right with this woman living in a tiny pimple of a town.

Mary picked at her nails. "Fine. You're probably worth my answers. But why do you think I'd know anything?"

"My brother-" Matthew started. His voice was accidentally a little too loud. "My brother looked up to heroes a lot. We think he might have tried to be a hero, somehow, in these towns, and tried to save people like you."

Mary thought for a moment. "I really wish I could help you two. I really do. But how would I even know if I had seen your brother?"

"Well, he's practically identical to Matthew."

Mary shrugged. "I don't remember anyone like him at the scene. My daughter, Isis, across the hall might know. Or my son."

Arthur sighed.

"Thanks for your help, anyway, Ms. Karp," said Matthew.

They walked across the hall. The room was identically sterilized, but there weren't any flowers. A teenaged girl lay in the bed, reading a book. She had dull brown hair like her mother, but it was cropped short and spiky.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"What are you doing in here?" demanded the girl.

"We had a few questions about the night you were rescued."

"Can I see some identification?" she asked, tapping the cover of her book with her nail.

Matthew looked at Arthur with worry. Arthur took out his wallet. He rummaged through it before picking up a blank rectangle of paper, which he held up to the girl. Isis, wasn't that her name?

"Are you trying to do something like psychic paper? Because it's not working, you fuckwit. Get the hell away from me." The girl lifted her book directed in front of her face, aggressively ignoring them.

"You like _Doctor Who?" _Arthur exclaimed.  
"I told you to fuck off. I'll scream if you don't leave."

"Look-I'm not a policeman or anything. But I'm looking for my-uh. My _roommate. _And I think you might have seen him."  
"It's not his roommate. It's his boyfriend," added Matthew.

Arthur choked on his breath. _What the hell did he think he was doing?_

"How the _fuck _would I know your boyfriend? And why do you have a fucking roommate when there aren't any dorms or apartment complexes for miles?" The girl had put her book down on the table, at least.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "We don't, erm, well I think you've gathered. I'm not exactly from around here. I moved to New York to live with my boyfriend, Alfred. That's his brother-" He pointed at Matthew. He then proceeded to tell her what happened. He added a few embellishing details: he talked about Andy Warhol's mummy foot and mentioned writing articles for magazines and newspapers. At the end he held his breath.

"Fine. Whatever. But don't you dare fucking come near me. Ask me whatever you want." The girl crossed her arms.

"Did any of the firemen or paramedics you saw look a lot like Matthew?"

"I don't really remember them, in all honesty. I remember feeling like curling in a ball and sleeping, but at the same time I felt like puking and my throat was burning with all the fire of hell. I wasn't too occupied with anyone around me."

Matthew shifted his weight.

Arthur sighed. "Does Matthew look vaguely familiar to you at all?"

She snorted. "No. Can you leave me alone, now?

"Sure, thanks," said Matthew. He pulled Arthur out of the room. "I don't think the boy is going to know anything."

"He could!" Arthur peered into a neighboring room, where a ten-year-old-ish boy was sleeping. "And how did you know she would be okay with me being gay?"

Matthew smiled slyly. "The book she was reading. It was _Me Talk Pretty One Day _by David Sedaris, who is pretty gay."

"Really? I think I've heard of him . . ."

Matthew chuckled. "I bet your buddy Francis has, eh?"

Arthur didn't remember mentioning being friends with Francis to Matthew. He didn't know if he considered Francis his friend, exactly.

"Anyway, I think we should leave the kid alone. He looks more burnt up than the mom and sister, probably blacked out anyway. And he's asleep!"

"Fine." Arthur turned away from the door to the boy's room and they exited the hospital.

**xox**

Tino fiddled with a loose piece of string. "So, good news."

"Oui?" Francis leaned forward, his pupils dilated enough to nearly capsize his iris.

"They really like the idea for an advice segment. They've already asked for questions on the website!" Tino observed carefully.

"Magnifique!" Francis stood up and hugged Tino across his desk.

"Oof."

Francis's office was small, but three men sat in it. Two of them far more uncomfortable than one.

"Ja, ja, ja, you might have saved your show. The questions email address is an extension of your own, so you can already look them." Roderich sat up straighter than an average telephone pole. "You should look at them soon."

"I apologize, Tino, but I don't recall why Roderich is here," said Francis coldly.

"If your show doesn't work, which let's be honest that's pretty reasonable to assume, you'll help choose music for my show," said Roderich. One of his hairs stood up straight, which wasn't terribly abnormal, but it looked like it twitched with resentment.

Tino only nodded in confirmation. "They said they might even add your advice segment to Roderich's show, but leave the rest behind.

Francis waved his hand. "Non, non, that won't happen. We're even considering hiring for my show!"

Roderich only rolled his eyes. "Auf wiedersehen, Francis." He left the office.

Francis opened his email and began making note of the questions he wanted to answer.

**xox**

For lunch, Matthew and Arthur returned to the same Four Star Diner as it hadn't given them food poisoning (and the other restaurants looks like the sort that could give one food poisoning). The waitresses and waiters had a not-so-hushed discussion about where they had dropped in from. One thought they could be FBI or something similar undercover. Another mentioned that they thought they had seen Matthew near their house earlier, perhaps looking at a nearby one for sale.

After that, Matthew drove to the hotel. It looked nice for such a rural area. Matthew went to go jogging in their indoor gym (how did he know to bring jogging clothes?) but Arthur sat in the hotel room. He tried to engage himself in something writing-related, but ended up playing the podcast version of Francis's show in the background while he sifted through local news reports for anything that could lead him to Alfred.

Soon he gave up, as rural Ohio is unsurprisingly barren of news outside of reports on how the schools did that year and whiny editorials that, on a good day, three people would read.

Arthur laid on the bed, a pillow clutched to his chest. Alfred was just a kid, didn't even have a job, really. If Arthur wasn't there for him, then who was?

Though he was worried about Alfred, he was worried about himself without Alfred also. Without Alfred, was he would have never actually chosen to start writing as a career. Before, he'd been considering statistics as a career. Statistics!

"Alfred, I'm lost," he breathed. He pictured Alfred beside him sleeping and he fell asleep, too.

**xox**

Arthur had been on the train going home after something. He was doing a crossword, as he never wanted to talk to people on the train. Usually, when they saw him doing work, they ignored him in turn. Usually.

A teenager sat down next to him. He wore a baseball cap and had a drawstring sports backpack. Arthur had ignored him just like all the others. He bent further over the crossword book, as if it were something that needed a lot of concentration.

"Whoa, what're you writing?" asked the teenager, who had an American accent.

Arthur didn't look up, assuming they weren't talking to him.

"What are are you writing down?"

Arthur looked up, his face deadpan, though he was very annoyed. "What are you on about?"

"Are you a spy?" the teenager said excitedly.

Arthur blinked.

"You _are _wearing a suit on public transportation. Only spies and stuff do that."

Arthur chuckled. "Be careful," he said. "My bowtie is really a camera."  
"_Really, _dude_? _That's awesome!"

Arthur had enough negative experiences with American tourists to know not much could be expected of them, but this was unprecedented stupidity. "Yes," he answered.

The boy looked into the imaginary camera lense, squinting. "It's hidden really good, man."

"It has to be."

"Hi, bowtie-cam, I'm Alfred." He waved.

Arthur felt a little awkward now that people were staring. "You know I was being sarcastic, right?" he said.

"Oh, man, you totally got me!"

"Are you quite certain you should travel around London all on you own?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, with spies about and all that."

Alfred tilted his head. "Do you mean you'd walk around with me? That'd be totally great!"

"Oh-I . . . That's not . . . Didn't you come here with friends?"

Alfred shook his head. "My bro was with me for a little while, but then he left for France and Germany. Yuck. I don't speak any of those languages!"

Arthur smiled. "Well, sure, I can show you around a little bit, if that's what you want."

"Awesome!"

And that's how they met.

**xox**

"Are you okay, Arthur?" Matthew asked. He was no longer wearing his athletic gear.

"I think." Arthur sat up. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

"Your phone was going off like crazy while you were asleep."

He picked up his mobile and flicked to his messages. He had five from Peter (those could wait). One from Francis that said "our genius plan is working! xoxoxox" And another from a number he didn't recognize. "Ann Arbor, MI."  
"I think we have to go to Michigan next," he said to Matthew.

Matthew sank down onto his bed. "Really?"

"Hmm?"

"When do we go home?" he asked.

Arthur only shrugged and rubbed his temple, wondering the same thing.

* * *

**AN: Guess what? The awesome Prussia might show up soon! Cool, yeah?**


	5. Chapter 5

Unluckily, the "Ann Arbor, MI" text could not be truly followed until morning, as again Matthew had already paid for the hotel room. Arthur offered to pay it this time, but Matthew refused. Matthew was a school teacher. Typically that wouldn't make one think of a huge salary, but he certainly was turning more of profit than Arthur.

Arthur didn't eat dinner. He told Matthew to go exploring or something without him. He wasn't hungry. Although that was the truth, later at around eleven, Matthew was fast asleep and Arthur was wide awake with a pain in his stomach. He sifted through his dirty clothes in his bag and found a granola bar from a long time ago. He ate it, but it did little to help his hunger.

He took out his laptop, hoping to edit or write or anything productive. He looked through everything he'd written so far. He couldn't bring himself to read any of it. Had he really written an entire piece about _scones? _

He sank into the covers of his bed. Even though just a few feet away, Matthew was sleeping, Arthur felt positively alone. He went to the webpage for Francis's radio show. He plugged a pair of earbuds into the laptop, then put them in his ears. He clicked on the "listen" button for the newest episode. The opening dialogue was with a Puerto Rican woman on how _West Side Story _contributed to her perceptions of herself and those around her. Arthur shoved the laptop to the other side of the bed. He closed his eyes, letting the woman's words make impressionist paintings in his mind until, finally, laptop still beside him, he fell asleep again.

When Arthur awoke, Matthew was brushing his teeth and looking at something on his mobile. Arthur sat up and blushed, embarrassed to have slept next to a laptop.

"I already reserved a hotel room for us. Ready for Ann Arbor in an hour?" Matthew asked.

"Yes, I suppose," answered Arthur.

Matthew pocketed his mobile and walked to the sink to spit out the toothpaste foam and rinse his mouth.

"My friend Gilbert, you know Gilbert Beilschmidt, he called this morning."

"Yes?"

"He wanted to get drinks with me."

Arthur stood up and awkwardly pulled some pants on while still trying to listen to Matthew. "Drinks?" he echoed.

"Yes, he was visiting New York. So I told him I left to go looking for my brother and-"

"Well?"

"Gilbert needs us to pick him up at the Detroit Airport." Matthew gulped and bent down to put on a pair of tennis shoes.

"_Excuse me?"_

Matthew bit his lip.

"_He needs us to what?"_

"He's coming to Michigan. He needs us to pick him up," Matthew answered, trembling.

"All right, but he better be silent through the whole trip."

**xox**

Hours later, Arthur sat in the waiting room of the airport. He perched on the edge of the chair, ready to pounce if that wanker Beilschmidt decided to hug him or something. Matthew sat next to him, playing a game on his phone.

"Hey, _dummkopfs." _said a voice.

"Guten tag, Gilbert," said Matthew. His lips creased into a smile.

Arthur said nothing, only nodded to acknowledge his presence.

Matthew stood up. Arthur did the same, then checked the time on his phone. It was almost noon.

Gilbert turned around to walk to the baggage claim area, Arthur and Matthew following close by.

"How is it that everyone seems to be able to afford airline tickets?" Arthur wondered aloud, thinking of Peter trouncing around somewhere in New York. "Aren't you still living with your brother?"

"Oh, come on," Gilbert said. "You haven't even seen me for five minutes."

"You're the one whose second word was dummkopf!" retorted Arthur.  
"Please, you guys, no fighting. At least not in public," said Matthew.

Gilbert scowled but complied nonetheless. He picked up a duffel bag, presumably his, and then turned to Matthew.

"Where are you parked?"

"This way," Matthew answered, motioned with his hand.

Gilbert and Arthur said not a word as they weaved through people getting their suitcases. Their tongues didn't move a millimeter as they walked out the door, the non-conversation almost eerie. They walked up the parking garage steps silent. As they approached Matthew's truck, Gilbert yelled "I call shotgun!" and ran to grab the corresponding passenger-side front door.

Arthur let out a _hmmph _as he opened the back door to the truck. He sat down, only to be hit in the face with Gilbert's duffel bag.

"You could have put that in the back of the truck!" Arthur screeched.

"The tailgate," Matthew corrected, inserting his keys into the truck.

"You could have it in the tailgate!" Arthur said.

Gilbert snorted. "No sense in doing it now."

Arthur crossed his arms, in for the far-too-long ride to Ann Arbor.

Matthew grimaced and drove out of the parking garage, similarly bracing himself for the hailstorm of insults he was about to hear.

**xox**

Alfred tilted his head. It was undoubtedly a college town, even having an arcade and lots of tiny bookstores for textbooks and college sweatshirts. His companion didn't speak.

They walked a few blocks to a street lined with houses. They were all skinny, compared to the houses in the previous town, and almost all two stories. Eventually Alfred stopped in front of one. "This is it, dude," he said.

His companion checked something in a little notebook. "Yes," said the companion.

Alfred used his camera to snap a photo before proceeding up the walkway, his hand shaking just enough to make putting the camera back in his pocket a real challenge.

"It's just someone's house," his companion reminded him.

Alfred nodded. Fear tightened his throat; speech was utterly impossible. He came to the door and raised his hand to ring the doorbell. He poked the button twice.

**xox**

"I came here to get a beer with Matthew, not to prance around looking for some dummkopf who probably doesn't want to be found."  
"Doesn't want to be found?" Arthur squealed. "He's leaving notes!"

Matthew sighed. "For now I do want to find my brother, Gil."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I think he's in the bar, it's where any awesome person would look for him."

"Right-o. You look in all the campus bars and Matthew and I will look in places Alfred might actually want to go," Arthur replied. He straightened his bowtie.

Matthew pulled into a parallel parking space next to a bookstore. "How about we just explore for a little while?" he suggested.

Arthur nodded, but Gilbert's mouth dropped.

"I can't control what you do, Gil, but I need to find my brother." Matthew rubbed his eyes, and then both Arthur and Gilbert took notice to the bags underneath them. Maybe Arthur wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

No one responded for a while.

"I bet you'll need someone awesome like me to help you out," Gilbert said eventually.

"Yeah, thanks." Matthew clenched his jaw and opened his car door. He got out, walked around to the sidewalk, and waited for Arthur and Gilbert to follow suit.

He looked around, analyzing the structure of the city and headed closer to where it was more tight-knit.

"If there's a big university campus, shouldn't it have a football stadium?" Arthur asked, tentatively. In truth he knew very little about football culture in American universities.

"You're right, it does. They wouldn't really have anything going on right now though, it's the wrong season," replied Matthew.

Gilbert sighed.

They passed a bar. None of them had eaten lunch. Gilbert considered pointing it out, but as they had been walking for less than a minute he didn't dare. Matthew decided they should take a turn at the next street, and soon they were surrounded by restaurants. Including a vegan one (Alfred would never be caught there) and a bookstore that doubled as a tea shop. Arthur made a mental note of this, just in case they found Alfred and ended up staying another day. For now, however, he was fine without tea.

They walked for what seemed like ages without seeing anything terribly interesting. At least, nothing that would interest Alfred in particular. Matthew wrung his hands, intending to walk further until someone told him to stop. He didn't want to miss something. Neither did Arthur. Gilbert didn't want to be perceived as weak.

Eventually, they got to a Delicatessen that smelled so good, like freshly baked bread and sunshine, that they had to stop. Arthur was reminded of all the delis in New York, which was becoming more and more like home. But the more he ate, the more he felt like Alfred was drifting away. Gilbert was incredibly hungry and ended up finishing Arthur's sandwich.

Matthew watched, finding an odd sort of peace in their begrudging kindness to each other.

**xox**

A day's worth of wandering aimlessly around a city and all they had gained was frustration and anxiety. The sun loomed dangerously close to the horizon and Arthur and Matthew both started trying to find ways to sit down.

"You know, that place looks uber awesome," said Gilbert, pointing to a brewery.

"It is about dinner time, isn't it?" Matthew said. He looked at the time: half past six.

Arthur yawned. "Yes. All right, I'm up for eating there."

"And drinking?" asked Gilbert, failing to hide a smirk.

"Well, I suppose."

Gilbert strutted into the brewery. The host that night looked a little bemused to see an Albino man carrying himself like a peacock.

"How many are with you tonight?" asked the host.  
"Three," Gilbert answered.

"Right this way," the host said. He sat them at a booth.

Gilbert looked at the menu for drinks carefully. He knew he wanted beer, but American beer, in his opinion, was a fickle friend.

A waiter came over in a few minutes, asking for drink orders.

Gilbert ordered his beer, Matthew asked for the same thing. Arthur just got water.

"So borrring," said Gilbert.

"How drunk are you going to get tonight?" asked Arthur, ignoring the comment.

"Relax, people as awesome as me can hold their alcohol. Unlike a certain lightweight I know," answered Gilbert.

Matthew shifted in his chair. Arthur rose to the bait.

"I am _not _a lightweight! I can hold my liquor just fine, thank you!" Arthur's hand became a fist under the table.

"Prove it." said Gilbert.

"I will!"

"Fine."

Matthew swallowed and hoped the waiter brought a lot of food.

**xox**

"You guys are such dummkopfs," Gilbert said, taking a sloppy sip of beer. "How do you even know he's alive?"  
Arthur's fist was not under the table this time, but dangerously close to his plate of fish and chips. "He called me!" He rapped the table.

"Ja, and how'd that work out for you?"

"The call dropped or something. He must've tried again because I did get a voicemail eventually. Said something about flying . . ."

"To _Himmel_?" asked Gilbert.

"Huh?"

"To Heaven?"

"No. Nothing like that! He's alive."

Matthew took a bite out of a fry, and then put it down to drink a little bit more beer. "I'm sorry, Arthur," he started, still sober enough to be cautious, "I can't keep up traveling the Midwest forever. I have lesson plans to make. Teachers do work a little over the summer, you know."

"What are you getting at?" asked Arthur, his tone far more aggressive than a gentleman's ever should be.

"Tomorrow I'm going home, I think. Or I can go back to New York, if you want me to keep an eye on your little brother. Just somewhere where I can work and don't have to pay a nightly fee."

"B-but, Alfred!" Arthur gestured wildly, almost knocking over his glass.

"We'll find Alfred, eventually, but we haven't even call the police yet to file a missing person's report. Maybe we aren't the best people to find him, Art." Matthew backed into the booth a little bit, noticing that if he needed to escape he'd be safer jumping through the window, as he was locking into the booth by Gil.

Arthur looked at his fish and chips, and his eyes grew distant. His eyes seemed to gleam a little bit more than they usually did, and Matthew felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"If you need money, o-or anything, really, just give me a call. I want to find him, too, but I can't keep doing this forever."

"I'm not hungry any more," said Arthur. He pushed his plate towards Matthew and Gilbert. He took a sip of his drink and laid his head on the table.

Matthew grimaced and called to the waiter for a check.

"Kesesesese, so you _can't _hold your alcohol, little arschloch!" Gilbert ruffled the Brit's hair.

"Oh god, I can, I just," Arthur hiccuped. "I drank more than you."

Matthew looked at the glasses next to the two men. That wasn't even close to true.

Thankfully, the check came quickly. Matthew paid for everything, hoping to get them out faster. After everything was paid for, he practically had to drag Arthur away from the booth to convince him it was time to go.


End file.
